You’re named Sandra. But I know that you feel like Pandora. You’ve lived on this earth for seventeen years. Seventeen dull, boring, routine years. The same routine – you wake up at seven, almost precisely, without the service of an alarm clock, but your own bodily internal clock, or even should it fail, the integrated voices of your parents from the ground floor. Then you will go brush, bath, get ready and finally would come downstairs to the dining table. A probability of three-by-four, or better stated as, a 75% chance will you have to find your parents fighting with each other and that in that fight, there will be no breakfast. Even if there be, you can’t sit in peace to eat. Yes, unless peace is there, you can’t thrust the pieces into your food pipe. No one can. That’s why you look two dimensional. Oh poor Sandra.
According to you, the things in the ground floor are antiques. To others, it must be alive for hundreds of years, to be classified as an antique, but to you, the things that have breathed for even a hundred hours, especially those in the ground floor were an antique. You’ve seen them all crumble to pieces every morning – glass, porcelain, plastics, flower pot, simply everything, save for the bigger ones like TV, fridge etc. No one can explain or predict the pattern of how an object will break, when thrown in what angle, better than you. You’ve seen them all. All the worldly shards. Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
They say that everyday we must get up in the moment we think the sweetest or as the best. Unfortunately, to you, the sweetest moment is when the babels fill the ground floor and dare to seep through your closed doors. Almost daily. And today is not an exception. You get your dream broken – today you’d Justin Bieber. You wake up to find the reality. JB doesn’t propose you. JB doesn’t take you to an astounding evening stroll. You grudge at your despondency. You remember that Johnny Depp cheated you last night. Hey Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
Getting ready, you go downstairs to find the belligerents still actively engaged in altercations. Two pair of eyes falls on you, and to your utter dismay, none of the lips widens. You said to yourself that it’s ok, as you’re wont to it. You get downstairs completely and find that you have at least an hour to reach the school. You cast on them a strong final glare that will reduce any human being to ground and ask for pardon. But your parents won’t and will never. You never think them as humans. You want your school to end sooner. You always had a dream that once you go college, you will take care of yourself. Staying away from them will be your biggest relief. That will be ecstasy according to you. You close the door and go out. You start trekking eastwards towards your best friend’s house. No food now. Poor Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
You realise that you had drip, as usual, two crystal tears. You wipe them with your palm and dedicate your ears to Michael Jackson and Justin Bieber, in your I-pod. After listening to two songs, “Heal The World” and “Stranger In Moscow”, you find that you almost had reached the place. You say to yourself that you’re a stranger in your own home. When your eyes focus, you find that the house is locked. You exclaim. You say to yourself that your friend’s parents would have gone to tour and thus she would be in her grandparents’ house. You wonder why she didn’t tell you. Never mind but you feel horrible that you have to walk five miles by foot. I’ve seen you all your life. Your friend, she will always take you to school in her car. Now you’re on your own. You now build air castles how useful it will be to have your own car. You sigh and start walking. No food. No ride. Oh Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
On the way, you are distressed to find your I-pod corrupted. It is not playing anymore. You don’t know the reason. You go to school and find that you’re late. The tutor sees you. You find her face go in all angles. It sets hard and red. She yells at you and tells that you’re marked absent and tells not to enter class for the whole of morning session. You hang your head and go to the school ground. You sit in one of the wooden benches and look at the emptiness of ground. Just like your life. No food. No ride. No song. No studies. Oh my dear Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
You realise that you’d stayed there till lunch hour. You get up and go to eat with friends. Oh who is that Sandra? Yeah, your boyfriend. Your love has come to give you a firm shoulder. Oh what is he speaking? He says you’re clumsy, gloomy and ugly. He breaks up with you. Oh Sandra what are you doing? Have you even forgot to cry? You stand like a rock. You resolve not to see your friends too. You make your way out of the school. You walk a long way to finally reach a place that is almost a park. It is 2.30pm. You hold back your tears and reduce your stand to a sit on the old wooden bench. You see kids playing happily with their parents and siblings. Little non-school going children. You don’t know how much time have you pottered away. You check out your watch to find the arms displaying approximately 4.30pm. You get up and start towards your home. You walk unemotionally like a zombie. No food. No ride. No song. No studies. No love. Oh little Sandra. I know that you feel like Pandora.
You feel your stomach getting eroded by hydrochloric acid. You endure it and keep walking. You see the elegance of nature that helps you forget your worries. You see the gentle trees sway. You see the vehicles pass by in uniformity. You see two lovers kissing at the corner of that road. You decide not to cry for your lost love. You see happy faces and that everything is normal in the outside world. You start to lose yourself in the magnificence of God. You start appreciating nature, when suddenly out of nowhere a soccer ball fly towards you. You try to dodge it, but it’s faster than you. It makes impact on your left eye. It becomes red. Few kids comes running by and grabbing the ball asks for pardon. You tell that’s ok, but still you feel the pain. That’s a heavy impact. You can’t open your left eye. You keep walking with your right eye. No food. No ride. No song. No studies. No love. No vision. Oh pity you dear Sandra, I know that you feel like Pandora.
You reach your home. You feel your leg muscles ache. You find that your mom is sleeping in the couch. Making no sound, you tiptoe to kitchen and eat whatever you find there. Satisfying your stomach, you yawn wide and make upstairs. While ascending, you flip open your Motorola and notice that you got 11 texts – all from your friends – probably inquiring your absence, at least, during lunch. You ignore them all and fall in your bed. You didn’t know how long you’ve slept but when you wake up you find that the time is more than ten p.m. You go and eat your dinner. No one spoke. You haven’t spoken a single word to both your parents the whole day. They’re, after all, not interested in you. You say to yourself ‘never mind’. You get back to your room and stand for a moment. You see a cardboard nailed on your wall. It is there for over fifteen years but you’ve never noticed it. Even if you saw it before, it never made an impact on you. You remember that it is written and nailed here by your mom when you’re little. You yearn for that sweet mother to return. Letting out a big sigh, you focus into it. You see a few words. Your mind decodes it:
Remember, if you’re still breathing
This second, if you’re looking at this,
Then be assured, it’s not the end.
Close your eyes and pretend it all a bad dream;
You didn’t fail yet. Breathe easy. Go sleep.
The sun will come to melt away your problems.
You inhale deeply and concluding that you will see a brighter tomorrow, you drift off to sleep pretending it all a bad dream, and uncertain of who will it be today in your dreams. Finally you say out loud, ‘The sun will melt away my problems’ and close your eyes. Oh Sandra, oh Sandra, I know that you feel like -
You cut me half and say ‘Shut up!’ and yes, you’ve finally realised that I’m the negative part of your brain. I feel my life slowly melting away. Oh my dear Sandra, I’m no more, and I know that you feel like Gondola.
A/N: a) This is my 1st attempt at writing in 2nd perspective. So, how is it? Am I good or at least acceptable?
b) Two reasons why I used ‘gondola’ – 1. To rhyme with Pandora... 2. Gondola maybe inferred to joy. It helps in transportation. So, let’s say, it transports Sandra from low sorrow feelings to fulfilling joyous life. Well, figuratively! Or whatever, I may be wrong. Is it okay or no?